


Mad Hope

by Flofliflou



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry's interested in Potions, Hogwarts First Year, Potions Class, Prejudices being proven wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:23:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24391258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flofliflou/pseuds/Flofliflou
Summary: “Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”Hermione’s hand shot up beside him and he swallowed, heart sinking. Powdered root of asphodel. Infusion of wormwood… He knew this, he knew he did.“Hum, a draught of living death?” he said, hoping his small stammer wouldn’t be noticed. Harry saw his professor’s eyes widened nearly imperceptibly, so much that he would have missed it, had he not looked straight into them.--Or when Harry was looking forward to Potions and he knew the answers to Snape's questions.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	Mad Hope

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me before falling asleep the other night and I'm glad I was able to channel it into words! It was a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you'll enjoy it!

They were all waiting in front of the potion classroom, deep in the dungeons, conversations bustling between nervous students. Being their very first class of their very first year, it was a testament of the speed at which news travelled at Hogwarts, for most of the eleven years old present were casting anxious glances at the closed door of the room. The Potion Master had yet to make an apparition that morning and the wait did nothing to alleviate the overly active imagination-induced apprehension of the first years. The Slytherins, despite Severus Snape being their Head of House, or perhaps _a fortiori_ , did not look particularly more serene than the Gryffindors, although to their credit, they did not overly show their discomfort as plainly. Ron Weasley had been sharing anecdotes on the dreaded potion master his brothers had regaled him with growing up since they had left the breakfast table, and most of his house had been listening with rapt attention. Tales of cleaning cauldrons with toothbrushes and scalding water or using students as test subjects were not particularly reassuring but they, paradoxically enough, had captured nearly everyone’s grim curiosity. They certainly did not enjoy what they were hearing, Neville Longbottom’s blood had drained from his face some time ago and Lavender Brown looked positively greenish, but no one could really stop listening and Ron seemed all too content to continue sharing his ‘knowledge’. 

Standing near the red-head, was a quiet and demure looking little boy, with raven untidy hair, round metallic glasses framing brilliant green eyes that were casting uncertain, yet excited glances up to the still closed door. Harry Potter had not uttered a single word since his new friend had started his tirade and had mostly tuned it down. When he had realized that Potions was a real subject taught at Hogwarts, he had been elated. Back in primary school, their teacher had arranged for them to have a practical lesson in Chemistry. Nothing too complicated or dangerous of course, but she deemed it useful for them to get familiar with a subject they would have otherwise only discovered later in middle school. Harry had been hooked from the beginning, fascinated by the change in colors of the test tubes when various solutions were added. After coming back from Diagon Alley with Hagrid, he had managed to snatch the two potion textbooks from his newly acquired trunk before his uncle locked all his supplies in what used to be his room for eleven years. In between the ever increasing list of chores, he had managed to read both books from start to finish and go back to some of the most interesting passages. 

That morning, Professor McGonagall had handed them their schedule for the year, and he had nearly spit out his Pumpkin juice upon discovering that they had potions for their first class. He wasn’t too thrilled about sharing the class with Malfoy though. The blond hadn’t exactly made a stellar impression and Harry couldn’t help but be wary of how closely the attitude resembled that of Dudley. His cousin’s bullying was quite enough on its own, he would like to avoid having a repeat at Hogwarts. He hadn’t dwelt on that issue, giddy as he was for the first class. Potions sounded brilliant, even more interesting than that small experiment had been and the excitement he felt upon discovering he wouldn’t have to wait long before starting potion had been hard to contain. 

Well, at least until Ron had started narrating all that was wrong with Potions and the Professor who taught it. That certainly drenched his joy. It was true that their Professor had not appeared too thrilled by Harry’s presence during last night’s feast. The boy had been vaguely curious after the sting in his scar upon looking at the dark Professor, but the scrutinizing and unreadable look he received afterwards had dissuaded him from staring too long. Besides, his focus had quickly been pulled by the chatter of his new housemates and the sudden apparition of dessert. 

So there he was, a mixture of anxiety and excitement in his stomach, trying his best not to listen to Ron’s declamations, and focusing on calming his wild heartbeat. He breathed out slowly, albeit a little shakily. He did not want to believe everything Ron was saying. After all, he had been wrong about the sorting, so perhaps he didn’t have all the facts in this case as well? 

Harry had spent the last month of his summer holidays daydreaming about Hogwarts and thinking about all the things he would be able to do now that he knew magic was real. His potion books had been a cherished silver lining in the midst of the wearisome atmosphere ever present with his dreadful relatives, and he had even started to take pleasure in cooking as he took to imagine the carrots were valerian roots and the basil was asphodel. At least until Aunt Petunia cuffed his ears for emptying the basil jar in the stew. 

Regardless, he had a hard time swallowing that the one thing that had made his summer bearable could turn out into the outlandish nightmare Ron was portraying. That didn’t mean he could fully repress his apprehension at the thought that maybe his friend was right and he swallowed uneasily before readjusting his satchel over his shoulder. He could mentally picture the two books, neatly stored in the bag, already scribbled upon and he swore they suddenly weighted a ton.

“I’m sure it can’t be this bad.”

He turned to the girl next to him. Hermione was it? She was sending a look of disapproval to the red-head. Harry only stared at her in silent surprise after throwing a quick glance at his friend. She probably felt his eyes on her because she turned towards him, cheeks coloring a little in embarrassment. She looked away just as fast, before she seemed to steel herself and held her head high. 

“I mean, sure Professor Snape seems stern, but it’s probably for a good reason,” she said with a firm voice, sounding vaguely like Harry’s chemistry teacher. “I read the safety procedures and precautions detailed in chapter one several times, and it sounds like Potions can be very dangerous. It wouldn’t do to be permissive when the wrong ingredients, incorrect heat or too many stirrings could potentially explode toxic mixtures.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether she was talking to him or to herself but he nodded regardless. Besides, he agreed with her, although he just hoped that he might have read the Professor’s dark look the night before wrong. Before he could slip further down that line of thought, the door snapped open, making him and the other students jump. It effectively extinguished all sound from the small corridor as all students stared at the looming figure in the doorframe. 

Professor Snape was clad in what seemed like the same pitch black teaching robes as the night before, with only the pristine white collar and cuffs showing. His face was mostly expressionless although his narrowed black eyes were glaring as they travelled over the fearful first years for several endless seconds. 

Harry held his breath, unable to move as he swore the man’s eyes lingered on him longer, scrutinizing him much the same way he had done the night before. He swallowed, feeling queasy with nerves as they hardened and Harry had to fight the urge to wince. 

The professor suddenly, yet smoothly stepped aside and directed them inside with a sharp nod. They all scrambled to obey without a word, while only the shuffle of their robes as they stepped in the large room and the dull noise of stools being moved could be heard. Harry didn’t pause upon taking in the disposition of the classroom. It wasn’t entirely dissimilar to what he would except from a classroom in a Middle-Age castle, with heavy wooden desks disposed in rows at both sides of a central alley that led to a small stage where what must be the teaching desk was. The air was humid and stale, but Harry thought he could make out earthy smells that he did not find unpleasant. What was entirely foreign to him however, were the rows of shelves sporting various jars, empty or full of outlandish substances, and were those eyes? He grimaced when some moved, following the students as they took their seats. Small windows behind the stage allowed the still warm sun of September to cast its light on the stone floor, but Harry figured the class would be very dark if it wasn’t complemented by lit chandelier here and there. He soon found himself seated in the first row to the right, right next to Hermione. Looking around, he found Ron much closer to the wall of the second row. His friend sent him an apologetic look, and Harry figured that if Ron really believed everything he had just explained to the rest of their class, he couldn’t blame him for wishing to be as far away from the potion master. He dismissed Ron’s concern with a shake of his head and a smile, before facing forward again. He had barely taken his books, notebook and quill out of his bag when the door slammed shut, startling him once more. 

“There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class.” Professor Snape had crossed the classroom in quick strides, and he was now facing them all from the stage, with a withering look easily that communicated the coming displeasure if a single one of them dared speak out of turn. It was the first time Harry was hearing his voice, and he couldn’t help shrinking a little on his seat. 

“As such, I don’t expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion making.” Harry couldn’t help but feel his excitement and curiosity swell up again despite his nervousness. He grabbed his quill, promptly copying down what he could as the man moved on. “However for those…select few… who possess the predisposition…” his voice lingered in the air, and Harry couldn’t help the mad hope that perhaps he would be counted in this category. “I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper to death.”

Harry let out a small exhale, quill hovering over the parchment paper. “Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not pay attention.” 

He received Hermione’s elbow in his arm and looked up at her, puzzled, before following her line of sight. His eyes widened upon noticing the dirty look of his professor and Harry put away his quill, looking back sheepishly. 

“Mister Potter,” he declared in a low and deep voice, emphasizing the pronunciation. “Our new, celebrity.” 

Harry frowned, lips parting in surprise at the cynical tone, and a nasty foreboding tightened his insides. He felt like he was being dissected and his heart sped up in anxiety, Ron’s words echoing in his mind. 

“Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Hermione’s hand shot up beside him and he swallowed, heart sinking. He probably had not misinterpreted the professor’s look the night before. This sounded like a mean way to trick him, and the tone reminded him all too well of one of his primary school teacher, the one he had mistakenly turned her hair blue after Dudley kept picking on him. She had taken a dislike to him even before that incident, and she had been singling him out constantly in class, particularly after Dudley had made up some lie that Harry kept on badmouthing her. His heart was hammering in his chest and a queasy feeling settled in his stomach. He felt everyone’s eyes on him, expectant of what would come next. He felt a rush in his ears and his vision blurring. Powdered root of asphodel. Asphodel… He knew this. Infusion of wormwood. He knew these words, he had seen them in the books, he knew he did. 

He lowered his gaze, closing his eyes as he took a shaky breath to calm himself. Opening his eyes, he exhaled deeply, intense relief washing over him as his vision cleared and the buzzing lessened. Asphodel. He remembered now, it was a flower, related to Lilies! He had stared at the drawing for hours when he saw that it was close to the same flower that gave his mother her name. Learning it was often associated with death saddened him to the point he ended up with nightmares that night. His eyes widened and he snapped his head up. 

“Hum, a draught of living death?” he said, hoping his small stammer wouldn’t be noticed. Harry saw his professor’s eyes widened nearly imperceptibly, so much that he would have missed it, had he not looked straight into them. He waited with bated breath, wondering if he had gotten it wrong. 

“Are you asking me or telling me Potter?” the professor retorted sarcastically. Harry blinked, scurrying to answer. “Telling you, sir.”

The potion master regarded him for a moment, lips pursed and a look that could be interpreted either as thoughtful or suspicious. Harry wasn’t sure which, and he didn’t dwell on it. 

“Correct,” came the curt answer and Harry let out a breath as Hermione’s hand came back down. “And where would you look, Mister Potter, if I asked you to find me a bezoar?” 

Harry’s previous nervousness seemed to have abated now that he could feel the giddy prickle of a challenge rather than the smothering and too familiar thought of failure and humiliation. The answer came to him easily and he felt his face light up. “In the stomach of a goat, sir.”

He had been particularly impressed at that one. Thanks to one of his biology lesson, he knew that some animals had stones in their stomach to help digestion, but had no idea that included goats, and _a fortiori_ that they could cure poison. 

Professor Snape now looked at him strangely and Harry had to fight the urge to fret. “That’s correct Mister Potter. Now tell me, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Harry frowned and looked down in perplexity. Was there a difference? He had thought they were the same thing…or had he misunderstood the book? He bit his lip in confusion. Were they, or were they not the same thing? And if they weren’t, then which was aconite? 

“I’m not sure sir,” he admitted in a small voice. 

The professor raised a single eyebrow and Harry felt like disappearing. That simple gesture seemed more vocal than any comment he could have come up with.  
“You’re not sure?” he eventually asked, and Harry was surprised by the subtly inviting tone. It wasn’t disparaging like he had expected from the man’s demeanor. He breathed out and took it as his cue to at least attempt an answer. He gathered his courage and didn’t look away. 

“Well, I thought they were the same thing Professor, so I don’t know of any difference between the two,” he explained, his voice increasingly more firm.  
The potion master shifted, a subtle raise of eyebrow once more that Harry took as an encouragement to continue. “I think they are the same thing, and that they also go by the name of aconite,” he added, trying to sound confident. 

Professor Snape lips thinned and he stared at Harry silently with an impenetrable expression that had the boy squirming on the stool, nerves slowly but surely coming back to him. After what felt like agonizing moments, the potion master turned his attention to the rest of the class, who had been watching the exchange with morbid curiosity. 

“Why aren’t you all copying this down?” he snarled. They all jumped into action in a flurry of parchment and a clatter of quill against the ink pots. Harry followed suit, and couldn’t help the small proud smile that fought its way on his lips. It was an entirely foreign feeling and he relished in it. He glanced up briefly, and paused in surprise upon noticing the look of his professor. His smile faded and he quickly averted his gaze and went back to his notes. 

Class went by far more quickly than Harry would have expected. Their teacher had them open their book on the first chapter, and went on to explain exactly and in great details what safety precautions they were required to follow whenever they would brew a potion in the future. His tone clearly implied unpleasant retribution if said precautions were not followed. They also covered the theory behind the properties of different cauldrons from pewter to gold and why it mattered for certain concoctions. By the time they only had fifteen minutes from the end, Harry had filled twenty pages of his notebook, half of which were entirely new facts that the book had not even touched upon. 

“Open _Magical Drafts and Potions_ to page 17 and read the summary quietly before completing the quiz on page 18,” the potion master ordered as he got down from the stage and walked through the classroom. 

Harry heard a few groans, one of which he was sure was Ron’s and he couldn’t help but throw a quick amused look behind his shoulder. Ron caught his eye and rolled his own good-naturedly before he paled. Harry had barely the time to frown in question before he froze at his name being called.

“Mister Potter, care to enlighten us as to what could be so interesting in the opposite direction of the assignment you are supposed to be completing?” 

Harry turned to face the professor, an apology on his lips when the man’s face darkened and he leaned back in his seat in alarm. His textbook was snatched up, and the potion master’s face went from furious to stoic so fast that Harry thought he imagined the hint of incredulity that flashed there as well. He swiftly leafed through the textbook, his expression unchanging, before he paused and snapped his eyes to Harry who barely resisted the urge to flinch. 

In few, sharp moves his book was back on the table, facing him and his teacher had already turned his back to him to go and inspect someone else’s work. Harry let out a relieved exhaled, and threw a cautious, and very confused glance to their teacher. His heart calmed down from the earlier scare and he caught Hermione’s eye for a brief instant and she looked quite puzzled by the attitude of the potion master as well. She turned her attention to her book quickly, although Harry clearly saw that, like him, she had already completed the small recap quiz and annotated important points. He looked down at his own work, very disconcerted. He couldn’t help but ponder on the beginning of class when Professor Snape had called his name, with a hint of disdain he realized on hindsight, and how fast he had been to try and drill Harry with questions. He had been lucky he had read the books so thoroughly, or else he would have never been able to answer any of that…He took in a sharp intake of breath and looked at the dark figure walking in the central aisle, feeling a hint of hurt at the thought that, his professor probably would have known that. So… he hadn’t solely imagined it, it had been trick questions, and the dark looks he had been on the receiving end so far, he had not misinterpreted either. Well that did wonderful things for his self-esteem… First class of the year in a new school and he was already singled out. Not that he wasn’t used to it, but still. He had hoped that it could be different here, away from the nasty influence of the Dursleys. 

Harry shook his head, trying to dispel the sting of his realization and went back to his work, slumping a little over the table as he dropped his head on his propped up hand. By the time the hour was up, they had corrected the answers of the recap quiz, and Harry was glad to see he had gotten them all right. Not that it had been particularly difficult considering they had the summary right on the opposite page, but still. 

“Mister Potter, stay after class.”

He froze in the midst of putting away his stuff, heart seizing. 

“Yes sir,” he answers faintly. Never in his school life had the sentence “stay after class” ever meant anything other than trouble. He briefly wondered what in the world he could have done, but lack of mischief had never prevented his previous teachers from finding motives to ground him, so who knew? 

So Harry simply waited quietly for the other students to leave the room, doing a very poor job at stopping his mind from blowing Ron’s torture stories completely out of proportions. The red-head patted his back as he left, and Harry nodded his thanks, rooted on the spot. 

“Come here, Potter. I don’t bite. Much.” Harry grimaced, and lowered himself to the floor, before warily making his way towards the stage where his teacher was seating, his hands clasped together over the desk. He shifted his weight from foot to foot when he stopped in front of the desk, unsure where to allow his eyes to drift off, before looking up at his teacher’s voice. 

“It is obvious that you have opened your books before today’s class Mister Potter,” he stated slowly, rhythmically, and was Harry dreaming or did he look pained to admit that? “but I find myself curious as to exactly why you thought that excused you from paying attention?” 

Harry blinked, clamping his mouth shut as he realized it had fallen open in shock. The withering look told him he better answer and fast, but he had trouble forming coherent sentences. 

“N-no sir,” he stuttered, shaking his head quickly. “I mean, yes sir, I was paying attention!”

“Oh were you?” Professor Snape retorted in a dangerous voice. 

Harry swallowed with difficulty. “Yes sir,” he said with much more confidence than he felt. “I was only taking notes of everything you told us.” He wanted to wince at the pleading he could hear in his voice, but that couldn’t be helped. 

The man raised an eyebrow, tapping his index fingers over his clasped hands. Harry didn’t know how to interpret that, so he stayed silent, trying his best not to fidget. 

“I am referring to the beginning of class Potter. Before I started the lecture,” he elaborated curtly upon noticing Harry’s confusion. Harry’s eyes widened as he realized what this was about. 

“No, no,” he started, shaking his head quickly. “I was taking notes of what you said about what could be done with potions! Hum, like bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses and… and even put a stopper to death.” 

He was rambling and he bit his lip, unsure of how his tirade would be taken. Snape was staring at him blankly, his look was calculating, and Harry was desperate. Was he in trouble or not? 

“I am sorry if I gave you the impression I was not listening professor, really I was,” he started again, before he even realized he had plans on talking again. “I was really looking forward to this class, and your speech was really interesting,” he added in one breath, before clamping his mouth shut. He did not want to sound like he was sucking up to the teacher, who clearly looked like someone who wouldn’t appreciate that. 

The man narrowed his eyes, and Harry swore he heard a disbelieving scoff, to which he winced. 

“And were you listening when you turn around to your classmate?” The word classmate was nearly spat, and Harry only stared dumbfounded. He hadn’t tried to goof off or anything, but clearly that was what his professor seemed to have interpreted his actions as. Harry lowered his gaze, unsure what he could say to justify that. It wasn’t like he was about to say Ron had been grumbling about the small assignment. He kept quiet until he heard a long-suffering sigh that made him look up. 

The professor was pinching the bridge of his nose that. Eventually, the man dropped his hand, and looked thoughtfully at Harry. No matter that there was no sign of aggravation on the man’s face anymore, only resignation, but Harry was too nervous too really notice. His teacher looked skywards and Harry swore he heard something along the lines of “Merlin help me,” before the man stood up, making Harry flinch. He received a curious look in answer and he shifted on his feet. 

“You may go.” Harry snapped his eyes up in surprise, mouth falling agape. What, just like that? Amusement flashed too fast in the potion master’s eyes for the boy to realize it had even been there. “Are you trying to catch flies Potter?” 

Harry clamped his mouth shut, blinking madly. “I said, you may go,” the man repeated, more softly. Harry relaxed, and nodded quickly, before scurrying towards his seat where he quickly stored everything in bag as fast as he could. 

“Thank you sir, good bye sir!” he said as he turned around and nearly fled from the room. He was near the door when his professor called his name again, making him freeze. He turned expectantly, and if there was a hint of wariness in his posture, he wasn’t even aware of it. 

“I’ll expect the same level of dedication for the practical lesson coming up,” he said levelly, eyeing Harry with his head slightly bowed over his parchment. 

Harry could only stare when the so far dark look softened as their eyes met, and the professor added with certain lightness. “Don’t slack off.”

Harry blinked slowly, feeling his face light up at the words. He pursed his lips to control the smile that meant to capture his lips and nodded deeply once. He felt light, all his apprehension vanished as his nod was acknowledged. The professor turned back to whatever he was doing, and Harry took it as his cue to leave. 

He smiled broadly once in the corridor, Ron’s words flying out the window, leaving only giddiness at the thought that perhaps, maybe, that hope of being more than average Harry and succeeding in potions, wasn’t so mad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Et voilà! I hope you enjoyed it! I haven't found many stories delving into the what if Harry had known the answer to Snape's questions (or I'm just very bad at looking for them...which is entirely possible!), and I'll gladly take recommendations of any you liked (or regarding Harry being good at potions!).
> 
> On a side note, I didn't know, but bezoars are a real thing! Fun fact, the word comes from Persian and literally means antidote, and although they typically don't work as such, it's been found that they can remove the toxins in arsenic-laced solutions.


End file.
